


To Catch a Thief

by milksteak



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, Fluff, Oral Sex, Romance, Starfrost: A Jane/Loki Fic Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 11:05:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1816306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milksteak/pseuds/milksteak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Odinsons have recently moved to Jane's town; incidentally, around the same time that a thief has taken to stealing the neighborhood valuables.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Catch a Thief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Artemis_Day](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis_Day/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Jane and Loki Drabbles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1295896) by [audreyii_fic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreyii_fic/pseuds/audreyii_fic). 



> For the wonderful [Artemis Day](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis_Day/pseuds/Artemis_Day) for the Starfrost Fic Exchange. Inspired by a lot of things, namely [chapter ten](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1295896/chapters/3359027) of audreyii_fic's "The Jane and Loki Drabbles," Penny Dreadful, and the song "To Catch a Thief" by Lovage. I had free reign with the prompt, so I just went kinda wild. Little to no research was done on the time period and I'm sorrynotsorry.

Though she smiled prettily and curtsied appropriately, though she said all the right words and laughed at all the right times, Jane was uncomfortable. Balls and fancy dresses had never quite been her forte. Laboratories and libraries were her domain - she left gatherings of this nature to Darcy, dearest of her few friends. It was at hers and her uncle's insistence she come. If she had been left to her own devices, she would already be snuggled in bed, window open with the stars and a textbook to lull her to sleep.

 

The Odinson family was rich and foreign and more importantly, patrons of science and old friends of Uncle Erik. They had only just taken residence here. She had never before had the privilege of meeting them, with herself and her keeper being on the very fringes of the upper echelons of society. It was Darcy who socialized with any expertise, smiling coyly and _not_ jerking her hand away as soon as it was kissed. Though Jane attempted to take cues from her, she was not a gifted actress, given as she was to honesty of emotion and reaction. It may have been that Darcy was more amenable to the idea of a husband than she was, despite being older. She was nearing old maid status now, but in truth, the idea of a looking after her uncle for the rest of his life and living in solitude for the rest of hers was not unattractive. Her parents had left her enough to survive on, albeit meagerly. She didn't need much. It was the curse of her gender that she be thought of as a pariah for not caring overly much about securing a husband. When asked, she would say she was looking for the right man. She thought she had found him once, but that was long ago.

 

On the whole, she found the event to be dull. The refreshments served were admittedly very good, but for reasons beyond her knowledge, it was considered unseemly for a lady to indulge with too much enthusiasm, so she refrained.  There was a certain beauty to the opulence, at least.  The marble flooring gleamed in reflection of the golden chandeliers overhead and the art and tapestries hung thoughtfully on the walls depicted scenes from mythology largely unknown to her.  It was enough to distract her from the conversation she was supposed to be a part of due to her vicinity to it, rather than outright interest.

 

“Don’t you think, Jane?”

 

Jane blinked, turning back to her friend and her friend.

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“I _said_ it’s rather exciting to have a bit of danger around here.  It’s usually so dreadfully boring.”

 

“Danger? From what?”

 

“From the thief, Jane!  Really, you daydream so often it’s difficult to talk to you.  Anyway, he is comely, too, according to the posters.”

 

Jane squinted as she dredged the memory from the sediment of her mind.  She had indeed seen the poster in passing, and though the details were cloudy, she could, somewhat, remember the features depicted.  His eyes had been shadowed by a hood, but his face had been long and severe in the sharpness of the cheekbones and thinness of the lips.  The thief had been drawn with a toothy smile, oddly enough, and even in drawing, it had looked mocking. In a way, he could be described as handsome.

 

"They say he _allows_ himself to be seen. He does it for the thrill rather than for gain, that much is plain," remarked one of Darcy's friends, a boy known as Ian.

 

"How can you be certain?" Despite herself, Jane found herself drawn to the topic at this revelation. Darcy was correct in saying that there was an extreme lack of any sort of scandal in their corner of town.

 

"He has been known to steal things of little value as well as jewels and the like. Some have reported diaries, photographs and ledgers missing after he pays them a visit."

 

"Conjecture," snorted Darcy derisively, "Those things may have very well been misplaced."

 

Ian shrugged. He often submitted to Darcy, who tended to cow people with the power of her opinions. Jane could be very much the same, a fact that might have provided the basis for their enduring friendship.

 

Her attention to the conversation waned as she caught sight of a towering, golden-haired hulk of a man. He was beautiful in every definition of the word, pure masculinity made flesh, surely the envy of every Grecian statue. Jane was not often taken by physical attractiveness by itself - excepting in the previously singular case of one Donald Blake - but he was such a perfect specimen of the human form that she could not help but take pause. Belatedly, she realized a man following him. He, too, was handsome, albeit in a less obvious way, in a way that required her to look again and again to confirm the elegance of his facial structure. Where the first man was bright and broad, this one was dark and slender, a shadow of the other. He looked like a secret; quiet, but with a weight all his own, the gravitas of ill-gotten confidence. Crowds parted for them naturally. They both smiled, the former with sincerity, the latter as if sharing a joke with himself.

 

Jane leaned in to mutter to Darcy.

 

"Who are they?"

 

"The sons of our hosts! The large one is Thor, the other is Loki. Are they not _gorgeous_?"

 

They were. She murmured her assent, her eyes still following the two men as they made their rounds, greeting their guests. When at last, they made their way to her and Darcy, she found her tongue to be unusually dry. She whispered the niceties expected of her and curtsied clumsily, nearly tripping herself in the process. Her cheeks burned with shame - _not_ because of the Odinsons. How humiliating! She had never before allowed members of the opposite sex to befuddle her (again, save for her brief relationship with Mr. Blake), why should she now?

 

There was an exoticism to them, though their manners and elocution were disappointingly local. Each of them bent low to place a kiss on Darcy's hand. She did not offer hers. It seemed cruel to ask a man to stoop so low (they were ever so tall) to kiss the hand of a lady who did not particularly enjoy the antiquated gesture anyway.

 

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, ladies." Thor did not so much speak as proclaim.

 

"Likewise." Darcy answered flirtatiously, Ian momentarily forgotten.

 

Loki's eyes, Jane noted, had been flitting about back and forth just as hers had, taking in the people surrounding. Until he had reached them. His gaze was now trained upon...her. There was an intensity to the apparent blankness of his expression, marred only by a hint of a smirk that curled his lip at the subtlest of angles. Her imagination was colorful - too colorful some had said - but she thought she detected a bit of a challenge in his stare. It was that alone that forced her to return his scrutiny, uncomfortable though it made her. She fidgeted with her nails until Darcy none too discreetly slapped her hands.

 

"You are Mister Selvig's ward, are you not?" Loki finally spoke. His voice was more melodic than Thor's and quieter, with a silky undertone that reminded her of the bodice of her dress, where lace overlayed satin.

 

"I am." She replied graciously.

 

"Why am I meeting you only now?"

 

"Misfortune has prevented me--"

 

"Jane prefers stars and numbers to conversation with living beings, I'm afraid, though that may change given the appropriate motivation." Darcy interjected, all but slapping her hand over Jane's mouth.

 

They shared a glare. She did not need her friend flirting for her, and were they alone, she would have vehemently said so. The two men were watching them, Thor bemusedly and Loki amusedly. Just then, music began to play.

 

"Pardon me for interrupting your conversation," quipped Loki, as Darcy and Jane had not said one word directly to the other at all, "But I do believe that's our cue to dance."

 

Thor clapped the smaller man on the shoulder.

 

"Excellent idea, brother. Miss Foster?"

 

He extended a large hand to her, which after a short hesitation, she took. She might have been mistaken, but she was almost sure she saw Loki's face harden as she was led away toward the dance floor.

 

Jane knew how to dance, but knowing and showing talent were two different things entirely. Thor towered over her, as he towered over most people, and she found she had to reach up a ways to rest her hand on his shoulder. He danced well, but not gracefully - grace implied a fluidity of movement and his motions were strong, like crashing waves rather than flowing water.

 

"How do you like it here thus far?" She asked, anxious to make small talk whilst she was staring at his chiseled jaw.

 

"It is a bit dreary, but the citizens are fair."

 

There was a fondness in his visage that inspired warmth in her cheeks.

 

"Have you had much time to tour the city?"

 

"No, unfortunately I have not. Perhaps you would be so kind as to show me the sights at a later date?"

 

"Of course."

 

The very idea filled her with excitement and dread in equal measure. He seemed not to notice. He continued speaking and she half-listened, nodding and humming in the appropriate spaces of silence. Jane was uncertain of how long the dance lasted - it might have been a lifetime or it might have been seconds. For the entirety of it, she was drawn to the timbre of his voice rather than the words it formed, the warmth of his palm guiding her steps. It was irrational that she should be feeling so...irrationally with a man she hardly knew.

 

When the dance ended, a great relief flooded through her - until he signaled his desire for another. She took his hand again and just as she did, his dark-haired brother stepped in.

 

"May I have this dance, Miss Foster?"

 

She could not very well refuse, could she? Jane nodded and allowed herself to be whisked away yet again.

 

The contrasts between brothers was sharp. He lacked the bulk of his brother in favor of a lithe frame. He did not exude benevolence like Thor, but something darker, a calculating mischief, if she could put a name to it. He was indeed graceful, gliding across the floor as if he were born to it, and considering the nobility attached to his ancestry, perhaps he was. He lent that grace to her, the difference in height being much less daunting for some reason.

 

"How are you liking our corner of the world?" She rephrased the same question she had posed to Thor, expecting much the same answer.

 

"I don't. It's rather boring."

 

She bristled at that, though truth be told, she may have agreed with him. But this was her home, after all. It was the way in which he said it that bothered her, with an air of condescension that brooked no argument. Of course, she had to argue anyway.

 

"You've been here less than a month!"

 

"And I realized how terribly bored I was after the second day."

 

"There can be excitement here, if one cared to look."

 

"I suppose I haven't checked all the hovels yet."

 

She combed her mind for something interesting.

 

"We have a thief in our midst, haven't you heard?"

 

"Really? How quaint. What does he steal? Brooms and shoes?"

 

" _No_. He steals what all thieves steal. Jewelry, candlesticks."

 

"Surely, he could be more inventive than that."

 

"Rumors say he steals more than that. Ledgers and diaries." Why was she defending the ingenuity of a criminal? "But those are just rumors. Why would a thief be so selective?"

 

"Why indeed. He sounds like the only person worth knowing in this place."

 

"Are you calling yourself uninteresting?"

 

His smirk only widened. It discomfited her, but she could not tear her eyes away from the cruel curvature of his lips.

 

"Is this ball not excitement enough for you?" She pushed.

 

"Hardly. Just another excuse for plebeians to kiss my _family's_ arse."

 

His emphasis on the word "family" confused her, so she ignored it.

 

"Not yours?"

 

"On occasion."

 

"Perhaps if you had a more attractive posterior, people would be more inclined to pay tribute to it."

 

"You think my brother's attractive then?"

 

Her rapidly cooling face heated once again to a dark crimson. It was her own fault for allowing him an opening and her fault for spluttering. Had she been drinking, she might have spat.

 

"I--I didn't look at it."

 

"Of course not. You were content to lick his boots instead."

 

"I did no such thing!"

 

"Quiet, Miss Foster. We aren't alone on the dance floor."

 

She fumed at a reduced volume. Instead of being amused at her anger as she thought he might be, he seemed to be somewhat incensed himself.

 

"You are a strange one." He said, after a moment of tense silence. She had been called strange many times before, but from him, it seemed less an insult and more a simple statement of fact.

 

"How so?"

 

"You don't simper."

 

"How is that strange?"

 

"Most women simper."

 

"What an awful generalization!"

 

"You don't pout, either. You exclaim."

 

"Only when given reason!"

 

The music stopped into the brief pause between songs, and none too soon, either.

 

"I would like to know what other noises you might make when given enough reason. May I call upon you tomorrow?"

 

"No, you may not."

 

"Very good. See you then."

 

Loki Odinson disappeared into the crowd, leaving her livid and alone. Darcy congratulated her on her time spent with not one, but two of the most eligible bachelors in town. All she could think of, however, were Loki's flashing eyes and sharp tongue. They followed her into her dreams.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He did not call upon her the next day, and for that she was grateful...mostly. She could not shake a queer feeling that came over her as the hours passed and had she not known better, she might have named it disappointment.

 

She filled her day with assisting her father in his studies. Jane fancied herself a large part of them, transcribing and offering her input. Occasionally, she found her mind drifting to Thor's warm voice and presence only to find them interrupted by Loki.

 

Jane could not fathom what it was about the younger brother that captured her so. Their time together has been brief and thoroughly unpleasant. Thor had been the more agreeable of the two and the more conventionally handsome. Still, both of them had a strange animal magnetism. Though Loki had insisted otherwise, men and women had been in awe of him as well as his brother, and though some of that awe was no doubt inspired by money, surely not all his admirers were motivated by avarice.

 

Those wonderings preoccupied her as she undressed for bed, shaking her hair free of its knot and unbuttoning the trousers she wore when only in the company of her household.  She changed into her nightgown and began brushing her hair when she felt a prickle at the back of her neck. Slowly, she turned toward her window.

 

A figure silhouetted by gaslight stood on the roof top across from her window. It was tall and black, like shadow itself. Jane might have been looking at his back, but by the goosebumps that erupted on her arms, she knew she was not. By the time she thought to do something about it, the figure had disappeared into the night.

 

She did not sleep until dawn.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Thor came the following week. They spent the daylight hours together and as expected, their time together was lovely. They walked along the market while she shopped and then took a stroll in the park. The cool air was cut by the high sun, peeking its face from the sky, a herald of the season tipping into spring. When he saw her shiver slightly as a breeze blew by, he removed his jacket and placed it on her shoulders, where it hung nearly to her knees. His temperature ran slightly higher than what was normal, apparently, and she felt it in the heat of the fabric.

 

"How fairs your brother?" She asked, unable to stop herself.

 

He chuckled.

 

"Well. I hear he made quite the impression on you."

 

"An understatement."

 

He laughed outright this time.

 

"He can be difficult, even more so since...." He trailed off.

 

"Since what?"

 

"My apologies, Miss Foster, it is not my secret to share."

 

"Ah."

 

Curiosity burned within her, but she resolved not to push the matter.

 

"He has a good heart, though he pretends otherwise."

 

"What does he do all day?"

 

"He skulks and sleeps, mostly. He has a brilliant mind, a scientific one, much like your uncle's. I believe he is nocturnal; I never see him until sunset, and then he disappears to the library or laboratory, where ever it is he conducts his studies. He attended Cambridge, but family matters prevented him from graduating."

 

She blinked. A man of science? She never would have guessed, but she should have. There was a wry skepticism and astute cleverness about him that was endemic to thinkers. Jane remembered how his eyes never stilled.

 

Thor's mention of the night reminded her abruptly of her visitor.

 

"Have you heard of the thief?"

 

"Thief?"

 

She paused as they approached a tree and pointed to a wanted poster. This one seemed less well drawn than the last she had seen - either that, or her imagination had made more of it.

 

"Hm. I have not heard of him prior to this conversation."

 

"Really? He's the talk of the town. I saw him last week."

 

Thor looked upon her with new eyes, brows raised in alarm. He gripped her shoulder gently but firmly.

 

"Did he hurt you?"

 

"Oh, no. I just--I saw him on a rooftop near mine. Our home is the tallest on our block."

 

"I see. I will tell the police immediately. You should come to my home and stay there until he is caught. We have a dearth of spare rooms and--"

 

"No, no. Thank you very much, but no. We have nothing to steal and my uncle would be resistant to the idea of leaving his work. Besides, it happened so long ago that I'm sure he has moved on by now."

 

He frowned.

 

"If you're quite certain..."

 

"I'll be fine, Mister Odinson--"

 

"Thor, please."

 

"Thor. Truly."

 

He escorted her the short walk back to her home. He was leaving for a bit on business, as an illness of his father's had flared unexpectedly, leaving Thor to represent him. He requested that he might see her again when he returned, and she said yes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Of course, maybe she had spoken too soon when she had refused Thor's kind offer. That night, she left her window open to alleviate the stuffiness in her room - and to convince herself there was no danger. Shortly after midnight, she heard dogs barking and shouts. Jane roused herself quickly, donning her robe and running to the window, her insatiable curiosity overriding her better sense.

 

Torches reflected off the window fronts below. The shouting was the doing of the police, if their uniforms were any indication.

 

"Damn! Where the bloody hell did he go?!"

 

Just then she heard a quiet, masculine chuckle coming from very near. She whipped her head around to see the figure she had thought she saw - _had_ seen - pressed against the outside wall by her window. He was close enough that she could make out details she had not been able to before - a dark smile, the eyes and the bridge of the nose hidden by the shadow of his hood, and a cloak. Then, he turned his head toward her, pressing his finger to his lips and hissing a "shh."

 

For a moment, she simply gaped as she processed his proximity. Then, she took a breath to scream bloody murder. He was faster than anticipated, crossing the short distance from ledge to window in seconds. His gloved hand clamped over her mouth as he pushed his way in, agile and graceful as a jungle cat. Her scream was muffled. His arm wrapped around her, pinning her arms to her sides. Then, she was pressed against the wall beside her window. His head lifted - she could not see his eyes in such dim light, but she surmised he was looking over her shoulder at the tableau of confused officers of the law.

 

She lifted her heel and stomped on his foot, only to bite back a squeak of pain. His boots were very sturdy.

 

"Be still." He whispered low into her ear. She stilled. "There's a good girl."

 

Her breath, heavy against leather, stopped. His body was flush against hers, hard and unyielding. He was cold. She had heard once that danger and fear could be a potent aphrodisiac. That was the only reason she could gather for how her skin suddenly felt too tight. A tingling sensation began between her legs. Arousal, she realized. How perverse. Was she really so lonely?

 

The shouts and barks outside faded slowly away, but the building pressure in her stomach did not. For every passing moment, she found new details to bask in. The flex of his long neck as he craned his head, the twitch of his fingers over her lips, the tick in his angular jaw, the pursing of his thin lips as it spread into a grin, revealing white, even teeth.

 

"Thank you, my lady."

 

He seemed to be studying her. His hand pulled away, fingers dragging over her lips. Then, he dipped his head and brought his mouth to hers. He tasted of a cold winter morn, sharp and grey. He smelled of ozone. Unthinkingly, she responded, tilting her head and pushing against him. A whimper passed her tongue and landed on his. Then, he pulled away.

 

He leapt out her window. She watched as he landed into a roll on the roof below, his laughter piercing the air. It wasn't the sound of a hardened criminal, but of a man freed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next evening after supper, they heard a knock at the door. Uncle Erik went to the door, as he always did when they had a visitor after dusk. He was convinced his masculinity would deter any would-be ill doers, despite the fact that few ill doers would be polite enough to knock. He returned to the dining room to inform her she had a caller.

 

"Darcy?"

 

"It's not Darcy."

 

He followed her to the foyer where Loki Odinson stood, hat in hand as he fiddled with a star chart her uncle has carelessly left there earlier in the day. Erik hovered behind her. He did not think as fondly of the younger Odinson as he did the elder, despite their shared interests. Something to do with the death of the youngest son many years ago, though she had never been able to wheedle the story from him.

 

"Good evening, Miss Foster."

 

"Mister Odinson."

 

"Loki will suffice."

 

"How may I help you, _Mister Odinson_?"

 

He smirked at that.

 

“You’re in trousers.”

 

“I am.  Is that what I’m helping you with?”

 

"I had hoped you might accompany me to the theatre."

 

"When?"

 

"Now."

 

His smile was charming, ingratiating. She saw through it immediately.

 

"Oh, but it's late. I'm sure my uncle would not want me out at this time."

 

"Late, Jane?" The familiarity grated on her nerves. "It is only just past six."

 

"I don't mind."

 

She looked to her uncle pleadingly. Was he really abandoning her, when he could so easily rescue her with a polite refusal?

 

"Are you sure, Uncle?"

 

"Yes, yes. Be home by ten."

 

He looked back at her apologetically. She cursed decorum. It made prisoners of them all.

 

She departed to her bedroom to change clothing, then admonished herself for caring. It was dark in the theatre, and why should she care for how she smelled or looked or anything? She had already agreed to go. She thought all of this while she spritzed on perfume and adjusted her hair.

 

Loki helped her into the carriage and seated himself beside her, rather than across. As soon as the horses began moving, she turned to him.

 

"Why did you come?"

 

"I thought that much was obvious. I wanted to see a play and wanted someone to see it with. I told you I would call upon you."

 

"You said that last Friday, you would see me the following Saturday. That was the fifth. It's now the twelfth."

 

"Oh. So it is. Forgive me."

 

He did not sound at all apologetic.

 

"No."

 

"Did you want to see me so badly?"

 

She rolled her eyes. Without her uncle present, there was no need to maintain any pretense.

 

"Not at all. My question is why spirit me away now when you obviously are not interested in my company?"

 

"You think me disinterested?"

 

He turned toward her. Had he scooted nearer to her sometime during their conversation? His eyes and her obstinacy pinned her in place.

 

"Aren't you?"

 

"On the contrary, Miss Jane. I like your fire. I spoke too hastily when I said there was only one person here worth knowing."

 

His voice took a velvety tone she knew to be artifice. The knowledge did not stop her mouth from drying. She wet her lips with her tongue. His gaze followed the movement.

 

The carriage stopped and the moment was broken, none too soon. She stepped out, refusing the driver's assistance.

 

The play wasn't one she had seen before, a heavy, boring melodrama. She was distracted the entire night by his witty asides and her failing attempts not to laugh at them. She was also distracted by his hand on her thigh, which though she slapped away many times, always managed to find its way back. Eventually, she gave up.

 

He visited her three more times. They played chess, spoke of stars and publications, and took walks. Rumors were starting, but neither cared. He made her laugh, but made her cross more often. Still, she did not turn him away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Her mind was scattered all the way until the middle of the next week. She had not forgotten the kiss she shared with the thief. How could she? It would spring to her mind, unbidden, as she wrote quotients for Erik or as she shopped for their groceries.  The recollection would set her aflame on the spot and with a trembling hand, she would touch her lips.  Nor had she forgotten Loki’s presumptuous hand and her grudging...tolerance toward him.  

 

Where before she had had only her uncle and Donald’s fleeting memory in her life, she now had three extra.  Thor was becoming a distant but fond figure.  The thief was at the forefront.  In her most private moments, she would clench her thighs together, rubbing them back and forth in search of relief.  On occasion, she would touch herself, at first through her clothing and then directly.  She was a modern woman, unafraid of the so-called medical and moral hazards of masturbation.  Recent research indicated that it was not dangerous at all, and all moral implications were tied into religion, of which she had none.  Her guilt stemmed not from the action, but from the source of her desire - a criminal.  

 

What harm could fantasy do?  

 

If she continued leaving her window open at night, perhaps a lot.  

 

It had been some time since she sighted the thief last, so she began to give up hope (and dread) of seeing him again.  She had seen nothing in the papers of him being caught.  It was likely that, as she had told Thor some weeks prior, he had simply moved on.  He might have made a habit of swinging into the rooms of unsuspecting young women and kissing them breathless; how was she to know?

 

Somehow, whenever she convinced herself of his inattention, he returned.  

 

She went to her bedroom after a long night of study to prepare for sleep.  As soon as she lit her lamp, she saw him on the same rooftop he had been on before, seated, his head bowed. She went to her window.  The moon was fuller; she could see him more clearly.  The celestial light caught on something shiny in his lap.  His prize, no doubt.  Undoubtedly sensing her gawking, she saw him lift his head.

 

She could not see his face but she felt with certainty they were looking one another in the eye. Slowly, she pulled her hair free, letting it fall down her shoulders in a dark wave. It was impulse, but her window was closed tonight, offering her the illusion of safety and anonymity, though he was the one with the hood. She was an actress in a play and he was her audience. Button by ivory button, she unfastened her blouse. He didn't move. She pulled the blouse from her shoulders and let it fall to the ground. Then, her trousers, too, fell. Her chemise was next to go. Her hands felt unusually steady, even with the heat pooling between her legs. Her drawers she removed with the same deliberative movements until she was nude.

 

She had been naked in front of a man with amorous intentions before - again, Donald - but her motivation for lying with him was more curiosity than lust. This seemed to her more intimate than that, though her witness was much further away. She stood on display, not to touch or be touched, but to be observed. Her arms hung limply at her sides, unsure of what to do with themselves. Could she be more daring?

 

Jane's hands were not so steady now as they rose to her sides, drawing whisper light fingers down her ribcage. Then, to her breasts, cupping the weight of them, grazing her nipples. Whatever he was holding tumbled from his hand - goblet? - and she heard a loud, muffled curse. He jumped to his feet. She slammed her curtains shut, pulse racing in her ears.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Honestly, she was no good at parlor games. Charades she hated especially. Jane was no actress and her frustration often got the better of her, leading her to bark the answer aloud and then scold the crowd for not interpreting her awkward dancing correctly. When the game began, she quietly melted away, though she was quite aware of Loki's eyes on her as she did.

 

Darcy was not in attendance, having taken ill a day before. A shame, as it was always fun to watch her animated impersonations. She also would have known how to handle Mister LeBeau, another guest at the dinner party who had taken it upon himself to flirt with her. She had thought Loki might save her, but he didn't, instead watching with an ever-widening grin as Mister LeBeau offered to feed her dessert. He never crossed the line far enough to merit a good slap across the face, but Jane almost wished he had.

 

She wandered through the many open rooms. The hosts were rich and acquaintances of her uncle's, who when she had last seen him, had been walking like a chicken, though he insisted that was not the correct answer. Everyone they knew seemed to be better off than them as far as monetary wealth went. They had always skirted along the edges of high society while never fully dipping their toes in themselves. This never truly bothered Jane. The only thing she envied was the books.

 

It seemed every fine home had a library, regardless of whether or not its owner had a predilection for literature. She dragged her fingers along the spines, drinking in the soft scent of dust and paper. She pulled one at random. Just as she opened it, she heard a voice.

 

"Our library puts this one to shame, you know."

 

She looked over her shoulder to see Loki, his hands clasped behind his back as he strolled through the entrance.

 

"No, I don't know." She said softly. Books always demanded her quiet.

 

"I shall have to show you, then."

 

He stopped beside her.

 

"You don't like charades?"

 

"No. No one ever seems to guess what I'm trying to do."

 

"We are the same, then."

 

She smiled, but it was tight-lipped.

 

"No, we aren't."

 

He circled her, eyes cast above her head at the lines of tomes.

 

"Thor is quite fond of you. He asks after you often in his letters."

 

"When does he return?"

 

"Do you miss him?"

 

His attention was on her fully, then. The weight of it bore down on her.

 

"Of course. He is a friend."

 

"You have met him twice and you regard him as a friend?"

 

"It's the quality of the time spent, not the quantity that matters."

 

"What am I to you then, Jane?"

 

She could find no answer but the truth.

 

"A mystery."

 

"Do you like mysteries?"

 

"I like solving them."

 

He laughed. Her stomach tumbled over itself. When he smiled - really smiled - his mouth stretched almost abnormally wide, a caricature of happiness. It brought to life lines of character in his normally smooth face, and yet, it made him seem younger. A mania laced the edges of it, clinging to the corners of his lips.

 

"Solve me, then."

 

She snapped the book shut and replaced it on the shelf.

 

"You are insufferably arrogant and rude. You harbor a resentment toward your brother - no, your entire family - and it makes you bitter. You enjoy antagonizing others for the sake of it. You're obsessed with inflating your own ego."

 

His jaw ticked as he clenched his teeth together behind closed lips.

 

"Then why humor me?"

 

"Because you are as clever as you are arrogant. Witty. You live a charmed life and yet, you are tortured. You are just slightly unhinged," her voice had at some point taken a breathless quality. Had he always been so close? "But that teetering on the brink of sanity, of normalcy, it fascinates me."

 

"I see."

 

"What am I to you, then, Loki?"

 

"A sparring partner. A lady who looks ravishing in trousers. I'm going to kiss you now."

 

"Fine."

 

"You won't protest?"

 

"If you don't do it quickly, I might."

 

He closed the distance between them, one hand finding her hip, the other tilting her head upwards. She pushed herself onto the very tips of her toes. He tasted of a cold winter morn, sharp and grey. He smelled of ozone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She awoke to the scent of leather and pressure over her mouth. Her eyes fluttered open and rested on a smile. The face that contained it - but only barely - was obscured by a hood. Jane had closed her window but now, over his shoulder, she watched as a breeze tousled the curtains.

 

"Good evening." A hoarse whisper. "That was an excellent show you gave me, but you should have known better than to tempt a thief, madam."

 

His hand slipped from her lips. She could have screamed then, but the rolling heat his presence always seemed to create overrode her fear.

 

"Why are you here?"

 

"Here I thought you were a smart girl. I'm here to take."

 

"Take what? I've nothing of value."

 

"That's not true in the least, my dear. I would like your virtue, but only if you would give it willingly. Tell me no and I will leave, ne'er to bother you again."

 

"I've already given that away."

 

He seemed taken aback at this, his grin faltering.

 

"But I have a body I am willing to offer."

 

Then, the grin returned in the guise of a smirk.

 

"How generous of you. You will find that I can be generous as well."

 

"A generous thief?"

 

"A bit of an oxymoron, I'll grant you that. Lift your head."

 

She gave him a skeptical look, but did so anyway. A black, silken piece of fabric appeared in his hands, which he then wrapped around her head, obscuring her eyes. Reflexively, she lifted her hands to remove the offending material, but he collected both her wrists and pinned them over her head.

 

"Now, now, madam. You agreed to give me your body, did you not?"

 

She nodded, the roughness in his voice caressing her, raising her skin.

 

"That's right. I'll not hurt you more than you want."

 

Jane had no time to think over what he said, for his lips had taken hers in a merciless kiss. His teeth nipped insistently at her bottom lip. The covers lifted from her body and were tossed aside. Cool leather replaced them, inching along her bare thighs where her night dress had ridden up. He tugged it up further, bunching the loose material over her stomach, then her breasts. Her chest heaved in an intake of air as he released her mouth. Anticipation shuddered through her as she felt his breath hover over her naked torso. It was hot and damp. Then that dampness pressed itself to her skin, sliding between her breasts and then over them.

 

The loss of one sense reinstated itself into the sensitivity of another. Then again, the intensity of sensation might have had nothing to do with the blindfold at all. It might have simply been him. His tongue flicked over her nipple - the answering wave of pleasure shot directly between her legs, where she was already slick. Her back arched, offering herself to him. His hands slid over her hips and between them, pulling her thighs apart so he might settle between them. He hung over her, laving and kissing her stomach, her breasts, her collarbone in random patterns, so she could not predict where his lips might land next. Every landing drew another flash of bliss from her and a soft, whispery whimper. If she were in her right mind, she would have been humiliated by the weakness of her voice, but she wasn't in her right mind at all and part of her enjoyed the embarrassment.

 

Warmth and wetness drew a line down the center of her stomach. Teeth descended to her inner thighs, pinching her flesh in thick bites that stopped just short of painful. Oh, God, he was by her cunt and he was looking at it, smelling her desire. Her hands grasped at his head to find his hood had fallen. Trembling fingers wrapped into the fine mess of soft curls crowning his head, then downward. He lifted his face so that she might feel it. She trailed her digits over the jut of his brow, the aquiline bridge of his nose, and sculpted cheek bones before her questing limbs were brushed away. She sighed in protest only to squeak in surprise as he split her thighs and delved into her with tongue and hands.

 

She lifted clear off the mattress, hands flying to her mouth to stifle her cry. She and Donald had never done this, she had never even known it was possible or sanitary, but it was far beyond her to stop him. He suckled at the nub she had grown well-acquainted with, but she had no idea how it could feel when a tongue and lips were introduced to it. At some point, he had removed one of his gloves, for the finger that entered her was dexterous and assuredly all flesh. It curled inside her, rubbing areas she had never known. She clenched around him in attempt to trap the searching digit - he added another to his assault, stretching her.

 

He held her down with an arm over her hips to still her bucking. Over her quiet sobs and the slick sounds of him moving in and out of her, she heard him laugh.

 

"Is this why you displayed yourself to me? Is this what you were hoping for?" He spoke into her. "All you had to do was ask, my lady."

 

Jane was close. The pressure mounted in her stomach, her chest, her dripping quim. She thrusted with his hand, searching for the brink.

 

"Ask. Ask and it's all yours."

 

"Please, please!" She whined, half whisper, half cry.

 

"No need for courtesy. What do you need?"

 

"Oh, I'm...harder, harder."

 

His fingers were exquisitely long, especially when unfurled within her, drawing out and slamming back in with force.

 

"Your mouth! I need--"

 

His tongue found her again, circling firmly. The pressure came to a head and erupted, spiraling from her center and flooding her. Every extremity tightened and clenched, every muscle seized in overwhelming pleasure that clawed up her throat and released itself in a series of moans lost in her palm. He never stopped, stretching her climax until it finally thinned and snapped, leaving her breathless and boneless, crashing back to reality and her bed.

 

The weight on the bed shifted and she felt wet lips peck her cheek.

 

"Beautiful."

 

She hummed what might have been a thank you. He stood.

 

"Where...?"

 

"It's late and I've worn you out."

 

"But shouldn't I...return the favor?"

 

"So eager. Not tonight. I'll come collect at a later date. Keep the blindfold on until I leave, won't you? It can be your souvenir."

 

She felt a gloved hand gently pass over her forehead.

 

"Good night, dear Jane."

 

The window closed with a soft click.

 

The next night, she used the fabric to bring herself, staining the silk. She intended to return it to him the next time they met.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dinner at the Odinsons was a surprisingly jovial affair, considering one of its members was bedridden and the other away. She had expected it to be a more somber gathering, but apparently, the patriarch's illness came and went so often that little attention was paid to it most times. They served a lovely spread and Jane was content to listen as Frigga and Erik shared anecdotes of their long friendship. Loki was unusually quiet across from her.

 

They had not spoken meaningfully since their shared kiss. She was almost glad for it - she was unsure of what to say. Jane had thought upon it long and hard between recollections of her encounter with the thief. She knew Loki had a predilection for mischief. Had any of it really meant anything to him, or was it a game?

 

"Oh, Jane." Frigga's voice roused her from her reverie. Jane rather liked the woman. She was the very picture of the elegance she could never aspire to. "My eldest son speaks very highly of you. He requests that he be able to send you letters."

 

"Oh! That would be wonderful."

 

"I will give you his address. My younger son seems to have taken a liking to you too."

 

"Mother..." Loki muttered, staring at his plate, clearly embarrassed. She bit back a snicker.

 

"I thank you for being such a good friend to my boys."

 

"The pleasure is all mine, Missus Odinson."

 

"It's nice to see my niece out and about." Erik added cheerfully from over his fifth glass of wine. "Though I do miss my assistant."

 

"Women her age should be socializing, Erik! Don't be so greedy."

 

"I know, I know. I ought to share her light with the world. You're a parent, Frigga. You know how difficult it is to recognize your little one is all grown."

 

He reached over and patted Jane's hand. It was her turn to be embarrassed, though her affection for her uncle shown through in her smile.

 

"Speaking of such, let us retire to the parlor for tea, Erik. I have things to discuss with you. Loki, why don't you show Jane your laboratory?"

 

"Yes, Mother."

 

He rose from his seat and circled the table to pull out Jane's chair for her. It was uncharacteristically chivalrous and she wondered if it was his mother's influence or his fine breeding. She laced her arm through his without prompting.

 

He led her through cavernous corridors and up spiraling stairs in silence. That, certainly, was unusual. She had expected his teasing to begin as soon as they had left the informal dining room. Its absence made her nervous.

 

They stopped at a door on the third floor. He opened it, revealing a spacious, neat room, filled with chalkboards, equipment and books. It was a far cry from the organized chaos of the cramped attic in which she and Erik studied. Most impressive was the balcony. The Odinson home was outside city limits and thus had a clearer view of the night sky than what she and her father were afforded.

 

"Will you show me the balcony?" She asked softly, staring through the glass panels on the door. The only furniture outside was a telescope and a single chair.

 

He nodded, escorting her through the double doors. The cool air bit at her, but she paid no mind as she released his arm and crossed the distance to the railing. Stars studded the blackness of night, overwhelming in its vastness and scope. She reached a hand upward, tracing constellations with her fingers. Loki stood beside her.

 

"This is beautiful." She sighed. The gardens were laid out beneath them, illuminated by moonlight.

 

"Thor was engaged once."

 

Jane blinked at the non sequitur and turned to face him.

 

"What?"

 

"Thor was engaged for a short period to a woman in Norway. Sif. They had known each other their whole lives."

 

"What happened?"

 

His face had drawn in on itself as it always seemed to do when his brother was the topic of conversation.

 

"He tired of her. Decided he wasn't ready to marry. He declared that he would rather spread his seed."

 

"I...see. That's unfortunate."

 

"Then, he met you. He intends to court you. That is likely what our caretakers are discussing."

 

Her heart leapt into her throat.

 

"Does he?"

 

"Yes. I wonder, what is it about you that has taken him so? I have never seen him so enamoured of anyone, Sif included. What did you do to him? Or rather, what did you allow him to do to you?"

 

Just like that, he set a spark of rage within her. Her eyes narrowed as she turned fully to him, squaring her shoulders in preparation for battle.

 

"What are you implying?"

 

"Don't be dense, Jane. You spent two days with him and suddenly, he wants to spend the entirety of his life with you. _Quality time_ indeed. Was this your angle all along? Seduce one brother and then the other for security?"

 

Before she fully knew what she was doing, Jane reared her hand back and slapped him square across the face. Then, once she realized what she had done, again. His head turned with the impact, but otherwise, he showed no sign of feeling it despite the sting of her palm and the redness of his cheek.

 

"How _dare_ you? _You_ are the only one I kissed and if I recall correctly, _you_ were the one to initiate it. Why don't you ask _yourself_ why you are so taken with me?"

 

His gaze smoldered with repressed anger. Jane, on the other hand, repressed nothing.

 

"Furthermore," she continued, "your jealousy is unattractive. He is your brother--"

 

"He is _not_ my brother!" He shouted, slamming his fist on the bannister.

 

Jane was properly stunned from her ire.

 

"I beg your pardon?"

 

"He is not my brother," Loki repeated, quieter this time, "I was abandoned and taken in, like a stray. Frigga is not my mother and I certainly am not _Odin's son_."

 

She laughed. She couldn't help it. His glare softened with surprise before quickly becoming murderous.

 

" _That_ is the reason for your angst? You were _adopted_? You have a family and they love you, no matter how you entered into it. Erik is not my true uncle, but I love him no less for it. I've no one else. I don't have gardens. I'm cursed by my gender. You have all the fortune in the world, yet you allow your petty envy to cloud your sight of it."

 

"You know not the full story." He growled from behind clenched teeth.

 

"I know enough of it. You are spoilt and take too much for granted. You would push away anyone who might care for you to perpetuate your resentment."

 

"Don't presume to know me, Miss Foster."

 

"Then don't presume to know where my heart lies, Loki! I have never once deceived you, but still, you paint me as the evil seductress."

 

"Will you refuse Thor, then? Even with his inheritance and kindness?"

 

"Yes!"

 

"Why?"

 

"Because I love you, you unbelievable ass!"

 

Honestly, she did not know she did until this very moment, but now that she said it, she knew it to be true. His face suddenly lapsed back into emptiness, even as she jabbed her finger into his chest. He took hold of it and tossed it away from him.

 

"You lie."

 

She prepared to launch herself at him when they were stopped by a clearing throat. They both looked to the doorway where her uncle stood.

 

"Jane? I believe it's time for us to leave."

 

With one last glare amplified to full intensity pointed in Loki's direction, she stomped to Erik. In the carriage ride home, she reached into her pocket to find the strip of silk she had forgotten.

 

 

* * *

 

 

For the next two days, she threw herself into work, invigorated by her hatred of all things masculine. Thor, Thief, or Loki, it was all the same and she detested them. Every time she thought of Loki and his denial of her confession, pain welled within her only to turn quickly to anger. Uncle Erik was kind enough to avoid mention of the Odinsons and what he heard transpire between her and Loki, if anything.

 

He distracted her with figures and quotients, which she latched onto gratefully. Together, they worked late into the night until she was too exhausted to think. Tonight was one such night.

 

"There, Uncle. I believe I've got it." She proclaimed triumphantly from her desk. "Will you come look?"

 

She received no reply. She turned to see him slumped in his chair by the attic window, notebook slipping from his lap. He snored softly. It was rather late and he was not so young as he once was. She roused him gently and helped him down the stairs to his room on the bottom floor. He fell asleep again as soon as he landed on his bed, still fully dressed. She left him that way, covering him with a throw and made the trek to her room in the dark, guided by familiarity.

 

As soon as she opened her door, she was met with the smell of fresh blood. Her window was open and from the moon, she saw a figure in corner chair. She ran to her lamp and lit it, dread filling the pit of her stomach.

 

"Loki." She breathed. He was still obscured by his hood. "What happened?"

 

It might have seemed like he was lounging, except for how carefully he held his left leg and the shreds of fabric around it.

 

Instead of answering her question, he asked one of his own. "How did you know it was me?"

 

"I'm not an idiot, that's how. Now really, what happened? Were you shot? Was it the police?"

 

He tilted his head onto the back of the chair, his hood falling back in the process. His face was paler than usual and he wore a grimace of pain, but it did not stop him from rolling his eyes.

 

"No, of course not. The police here couldn't shoot a wall if they were pointed at it. The truth is much more embarrassing, I'm afraid. I cut myself on broken glass jumping through the Hendersons' window."

 

"And that's what you get for stealing."

 

"A bit of sympathy would be welcome."

 

"You'll find none from me." She sniffed, even as she crossed the room and knelt beside him to inspect the wound. He had made a cursory bandage with what looked to be part of her night dress ( _so inconsiderate!_ ). It was saturated with blood. She tugged it down to see a deep gash in his calf that suggested stabbing rather than cutting.

 

"You're not going to faint, are you?" He asked dryly.

 

"No," she replied in the same tone, "But I should get you to a hospital. You'll need stitches."

 

"Are you daft, woman?!"

 

She pulled the bandage up more roughly than she had to, drawing from him a wince.

 

"Be quiet! No, I'm not daft, I'm just not a trained medical professional!"

 

"I'm an excellent liar, but I'm a bleeding man in all black with numerous stolen artifacts on my person."

 

"Then take off the black."

 

"And you would be seen with me, at night, alone, escorting me to the doctor? What would the neighbors say?"

 

"I don't care. I could take you to Donald."

 

"Really, I would rather not. Can you sew?"

 

"Not well."

 

"Not well is good enough."

 

She gaped at him.

 

"You're serious."

 

"Completely."

 

They held each other's gaze for a long moment before she finally relented.

 

"Alright, then. Have it your way."

 

She found the medical kit they kept in the attic in case of accident - they owned a lot of fragile things and her uncle was clumsy - and procured towels and a bowl of water, tiptoeing the entire way. Uncle Erik usually slept like a rock, but still, every creak of the wood shot a new burst of adrenaline through her. With overburdened arms, she opened and closed the door behind her with a sigh of relief.

 

"Were you trying to wake the whole house? You stomp like Thor."

 

"Oh, do shut up."

 

She unloaded the supplies beside him and sat cross-legged on the floor. Obviously, propriety was not high on her list of things to care about at that very moment. She reached into the bag, ferreting around as she pulled out different bits and pieces. The bandage was snipped away and delicately pulled off, both of them wincing as it caught on dried blood. She daubed the area with water as gently as she could, but she was no nurse.

 

"Laudanum?"

 

"I'll pass."

 

Jane found the alcohol and wet a cloth with it.

 

"Are you sure? This will sting."

 

"I know. Let me prepare."

 

He took a deep breath and nodded. She pressed the cloth to the wound, watching nervously as he exhaled slowly through his nose. He made nary a peep and Jane had to grudgingly admire his stoicism. She tossed the soiled cloth aside and began the slow and very annoying process of trying to thread her needle. She was surprised to find catgut thread among their supplies. Happy accidents.

 

She felt his eyes on her long before he spoke.

 

"How long have you known?"

 

"I suspected when you first dropped in. Your voice and smile were familiar, but I couldn't be sure. I was certain after the library." She gave a small laugh of triumph as the thread met the eye. "You kissed the same and you talk too much."

 

"So when you undressed--"

 

"It was a guess and a hope."

 

"Daring--ah-" he stumbled as she pierced his skin, "Daring gambit, Miss Foster. Why did you not confront me before?

 

She bit her lip in concentration as she pulled the needle through.

 

"We were playing a game, weren't we? You had your double life and your secret - why shouldn't I? My life was very dull until you came about." She stood and brought the lamp nearer. It wasn't as difficult as she had thought it might be. "And at any rate, I had intended on confronting you when I went to your estate for dinner, but then you.... I'm still angry about that, by the way."

 

His breathing seemed to have evened.

 

"As you should be." He said quietly, then cleared his throat. "That was my mistake. I...apologize."

 

She paused to glance at him.

 

"A sincere apology from _you_?"

 

"Yes. Don't grow too accustomed to it. Hurry, won't you?"

 

She pursed her lips and continued. He did as well.

 

"I had falsely thought you more duplicitous than you truly were. What you said then, you meant it?"

 

"Meant what?"

 

"That you love me."

 

A thrill ran through her. She did her best to tamp it down.

 

"Unfortunately, yes."

 

"The sentiment is returned."

 

Her fingers hesitated.

 

"Say it more clearly, Loki."

 

"I love you."

 

She could not help the grin that split her face then.

 

"Truly?"

 

"Yes. You are difficult, brash, and far too rebellious. You are a kindred spirit."

 

"How do I tie this off?"

 

"Damn, I don't know. Just knot it and come here."

 

Jane did as he bid after a few tries and stood. He patted his right thigh and she perched herself on his knee before he pulled her nearer, wrapping an arm around her. It was not unpleasant. The bliss of love returned, however, was somewhat marred by the elephant in the room.

 

"What now?"

 

"Will you marry me, Jane Foster?"

 

She gaped - then laughed.

 

"If you will stop thieving, then I will consider it."

 

"You won't be my partner in crime?"

 

"I won't."

 

He sighed heavily.

 

"Very well."

 

 

 


End file.
